


Invoke, Conjure, and Command

by ordinarily (tofty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam watches as Dean eats her out then she bends Dean over and fucks him with a random object. Sam is to wait his turn, but when FC pulls object out of Dean and puts it in Sam's mouth, he comes on the spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invoke, Conjure, and Command

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourth round of the blindfold kink meme. Takes places in between scenes of "Lazarus Rising."

She'd offered and all, sure, but to tell the truth, she hadn't really expected them -- not either of them, much less both -- to take her up on it. Here they all are, though, ready and, she hopes, willing. She takes their hands to lead them upstairs, and she knows it gives her an unfair advantage, but newsflash, it's an unfair world, and a girl's gotta protect herself. As she takes their hands, she pays more attention to what she's reading from them than to the stair treads in front of her (darkness almost bottomless, mixed with a greed for each other so intense after four months apart that if it ever turned sexual, they'd burn themselves and everyone else they touched right out of existence, so she thinks it might be best not to go there, not now, not when she's with them, which is undeniably good to know).

At the bedroom doorway, she lets their hands go and turns to them. "Okay, boys, here's the deal," she says. "My idea, my space, I call the shots, okay? I get the sense that you're gonna take matters into your own hands, start ignoring my directions? You're outta here, no séance tonight, do not pass go, and you never get my cooperation on any case, ever again. Got it?"

She watches them exchange a look, but it's not a discouraging one. "Yes, ma'am," Dean says with a surprisingly easygoing smile. Beautiful face, and a good one, too, steely and humorous and kind, on the whole more approachable than his tightly-wound brother, and she finds himself smiling back at him before turning to Sam.

"How about you, Grumpy? Think you can keep to the script?"

His smile is more barbed, but, she thinks, still genuine. "How about this? I can't keep to the script, I walk offstage, no argument or discussion."

She considers him in silence, and decides that if she wants a piece of Sam -- and she does, she most certainly does -- this is about the most he's going to give up to her. She concedes with a silent nod. She'll hold him to his counteroffer, and they both know it.

In the bedroom, the late-afternoon late-summer sun is cutting through the sheer curtains hanging in the windows, and Lux is sleeping a diffuse sunny patches on the bed. "All right, kid, out you go," she says, making a mild shooing gesture at him, and he stretches slowly to his feet and stalks out the door. Compliant, but only reluctantly, which is absolutely par for the course with Lux. She shuts the door behind him with a snap and turns back to Sam and Dean. "Ready, Winchesters?"

They nod.

"Sam, you're watching for now -- it's okay, you'll get yours, if you decide it's what you want, but I get the sense that you're not totally sold on this, right?" He shrugs, but she gets that it's not a denial or a shaking-off gesture. "Well, this'll give you a chance to back out quietly if you decide you don't want it after all. No harm, no foul, you know? But if you come into this, I want your full and enthusiastic consent, so you be thinking about that, and I'll be checking back in." She waves him into the chair in the corner and turns back to Dean. "And you, you can just take all your clothes off, and I do mean all of them."

Dean gives Sam a sidelong look, but he sits on the bed and starts tugging at his bootlaces. There's no awkwardness or uncertainty in him, getting undressed with a brother and a near-stranger sharing his space, and she knows by this that he's used to both, if maybe not both at once. And God knows he's got nothing to be ashamed of.

When he's down to smooth skin, marked only by constellations of faint freckles and the big, red-raw handprint on his upper arm (both she and Sam gasp at the sight of it, but Dean's jaw clenches, and so neither of them mentions it, though her eyes lock with Sam's and she thinks Dean's not going to be able to go much longer without some sort of explanation), he looks at her inquiringly. Wants to touch, her or himself, she doesn't think it matters to him, and if she gets to make the choice, she'd rather it be her; she's selfish that way, and she does genuinely want his hands on her. Besides, he deserves a reward for sticking to the spirit of the law she's laid down, for waiting for her next direction.

"Come here," she says, lowly, and he does, stopping just short of touching her. "Good lord, Mr. Winchester, you should be naked all the time," she teases, running her hands up his smooth, strong biceps and down his torso. She rests her hands on his hips, digs her fingers in, and his cock twitches a little. "Just delicious, " she murmurs against his lips, leaning up for a brief kiss, touches her tongue to his lips and feels his mouth open to her. she slips her tongue in for just a second, and then pulls back. "Mmmmm. Mouth-watering."

His eyes are heavy-lidded now. "Yeah, well," he says. Maybe, but I can't help but notice that one of us is naked and one of us isn't."

"Oh, we're gonna take care of that right now, babe. You get to undress me." She sits on the bed and holds her foot up. "Start at the bottom and work your way up." And he does, without question, pulls off her boot and then rests her foot on his groin to roll down her sock. A nice touch: she's calling the shots, but it's not like she doesn't appreciate a little creative license. She flexes her toes against his dick, and gets her reward in a gasp, a twitch as he firms up underneath her toes. _Very_ nice.

When they're both naked, Pamela sitting on the edge of the bed with Dean standing in front of her, she looks over at Sam, who's sitting quietly in his chair. He seems to be relaxing a little, though; he's looking maybe a little less ambivalent. "Sam, you doing okay there?"

"I'm good, Pamela." His voice is deep rasp, and yeah, a lot less ambivalent, she thinks.

"You wanna get naked, too? Your choice, here."

He stands immediately, giving her a brief grin. "I'll get naked," he says briefly, pulling all his shirts, of which there inexplicably seem to be many, over his head, unbuttons and unzips his jeans before reaching footward, and she thinks that yeah, she's definitely gonna want to have some of that. She grins up at Dean, who's still watching Sam as if he doesn't quite believe what he's seeing, she's not sure whether it's because all that gorgeous muscle's a new addition, or because Sam is even less likely to be doing something like this than she's previously thought, or both, or something else altogether.

She figures she wouldn't get an honest answer if she asked. So she doesn't ask. Instead, they both watch as Sam strips down. There's an avidity about their silence that'll tickle her, later, but for now, they're just staring, maybe getting off a little on the right to stare. When Sam's stripped bare, he makes to sit back down in the chair, but she stops him. "Come a little closer, you." He steps up to the edge of the bed as well, and she says, "you're still watching for now, but you're watching from the bed." She pats the headboard. "Up here, Grumpy. Back against the pillows. Indian style." He obeys silently, eyes dark, chest rising and falling quickly, and she figures that having got this far, he's in for a pound, so she swings her legs up onto the bed, lies back with her head on his crossed legs, and smiles up into his upside-down face. "Hi," she says to him.

"Hi." She's pleased to note that there's a lot less tension in his smile now.

Dean's still silent, watching them both carefully. "Ready?" she asks, but judging by the state of him, she already knows the answer, and she grasps his hand and pulls him over her, giving his ass a light slap and a quick caress. "Okay, first things first." She grasps his head in her hands, wishing he had a little more hair to grip, but liking the way it bristles against her palms, and kisses him. Once, twice, quick and soft, and on her third pass his mouth opens and she just pushes into place, rubbing her stomach against his cock as he braces himself above her. He thrusts his hips, which may possibly against the rules, but she's not going to hold a little involuntary movement against him, not when he's sucking on her tongue like this.

"God," she gasps as she draws back for air, "maybe we should just kiss all afternoon." His grin is knowing, confident in this if in nothing else, and she grins back at him, just as knowing. "But I think I'd rather see what your mouth can do, other places." She pulls his head down her body a little, and he takes his cue instantly, drawing back onto his haunches.

"Well, where do you want me, then?" She doesn't answer him with words, just draws a hand down to the lips of her pussy, already wet, muscles already loosening for him, and his eyes go unfocused as he watches her rub lightly along the slit. Not pushing inside, not yet, she's saving that pleasure for him, and it looks to be a pleasure he's down with.

"Oh, yeah," he breathes, and breathes again with his mouth close to her. The warm wetness of his breath against her pubic hair raises the hair at the back of her neck and tightens her nipples, and he breathes again, and again, fingers wrapped around her upper thighs, not quite pulling them open.

She raises and eyebrow at the top of his head. "You know you can do more than breathe on me, right?"

He squeezes her thighs, and the breath bursts out of him again, this time on a short laugh. "Yeah, I got that, Boss. Just appreciating the moment -- it's been a while." She strokes the back of his head in understanding as Sam shifts restlessly under her head, then reaches back to rub her palms along his astonishingly gorgeous hipbones. She'd ask whether Sam's okay, but since she can feel his dick underneath her head, she figures he's okay enough to keep going.

And finally, Dean pries her legs further apart and leans in. It's like the long slow ascent on a roller coaster, as she feels his tongue against the surface, the breathless pause at the top when you know what's coming and you're helpless to stop the anticipatory clenching rush, and then his fingers plunge into her and oh Christ, he's good at this, his mouth on her clit and his fingers barely moving in her, looking for her G-spot and when he finds it he presses hard and that's the last coherent thought she has for she doesn't know how long.

She comes rattling to a stop and opens her eyes. Sam's leaning over her, his hands on her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, and she'd cry foul, but it feels terrific (tiny little tingles zapping straight down her torso to where Dean's still connected to her) and anyway, her hands are gripping his wrists, so it's quite possible this was her idea, even if she doesn't remember it occurring to her. At any rate: an excellent idea, off-book or not.

Sam's eyes are on Dean, eyes unfathomable, but he looks down at her and his face changes, softens. "You okay?" His hands are still on her breasts, still massaging.

She laughs, still a little short of breath. "Hey, that's my question, Grumpy." He grins at her, the first uncomplicatedly boyish look she's seen from him this afternoon (and shit, he's got dimples, how is that fair?), and she pokes above her head at his belly. "And I'm good, I'm perfect, but I think it's Dean's turn. Reach into the top drawer of the nightstand and grab what's in it."

Dean's head comes up at that. He watches curiously as Sam draws out its contents with raised eyebrows, and rears back a little at the sight.

"So," she says, quivering in aftershock as he draws his fingers abruptly out of her. "I take it you've never been fucked by a glass dildo."

"Uh, no." His eyes are very wide. "Do I want to be fucked with a glass dildo?"

"When I'm the one fucking you? Yeah, you do, I think you definitely do. But it's your decision, Dean. Yes or no?"

He eyes its smooth curves dubiously. "What happens if I say no?"

She shrugs. "Then we move on to something else. But I really do think you'll like it. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't."

Another pause, and then Dean relaxes and sets his chin on his abdomen. "Yeah, okay, go for it. Just use lots of lube, okay?"  
She touches his cheek, swipes a thumb through its wetness. "I wouldn't do it any other way, I promise." She scoots up to sit with her back to Sam's chest, his erection aligned nicely along her spine, and takes the lube from him. "I'm gonna open you up first, Dean. Kneel over me, facing the foot of the bed, okay?"

Dean does it, but slowly. He undressed in front of them both, ate her out with his baby brother along for the ride, but he's flushed and anxious at the idea of exposing the pucker of his asshole like this. He does it, though, and that's just fine, the willingness and the reluctance together are possibly the hottest thing she's ever seen. She palms his ass, one thumb barely pressing against his hole, and from behind her Sam makes the loveliest sound, somewhere between a grunt and a whimper. Interesting.

And that reminds her. "Hey, Sam, wanna make yourself useful while you're watching?" It takes Sam a second to redirect his attention back to her. When she's sure she has it, she goes on, "roll the glass in your hands. That way when I push it in, it won't be freezing cold."

His fingers tighten on the dildo. Obediently, he rolls it between his palms.

Pamela flips the cap on the lube and pours it over two fingers, letting it drip messily onto her, and, figuring it were well it were done quickly, them all the way in without warning. Dean gasps, head rearing back and spine stiffening, and she crooks the fingers inside him. "Dean? Good or bad?" He drops his head and doesn't respond, and she crooks her fingers again, saying more sharply, "Dean, did that hurt? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean manages. From the sound of his voice, his teeth are gritted. "You can keep going." She's still not completely sure he's with her, since he's softening up, but she takes him at his word and does keep going, the two fingers joined by a third, and Dean slowly opens up to her. By the time she figures he's ready, he's hard again, his balls tight, She gives them a light squeeze as she draws out her fingers, his open hole ready for more, and he moans and pushes back into the touch.

"Okay, baby, I'll get you there," she says, pulling the dildo from Sam's hands, which have stopped rolling and are clenched tight around it. No matter: it's warmed up nicely, either way. "Turn around to face us, she says. "Want to see your face while you sit on it." This time, both Sam and Dean are gasping, and she likes that.

Dean turns, the flush reaching halfway down his chest by now, and straddles her hips. She squeezes more lube over the dildo and positions upright against his hole. "Okay, now slow. We want to watch it go in."

And it's easy, from there. Dean's open, and the dildo's frictionless rigidity allows it to sink straight in smoothly. When there's a bare two inches left to go, she stops him, pulls it out an inch and twists it back in and, by the arch of his back, finds his prostate. "What does it feel like, Dean? Tell us."

He eases forward, hands on his clenched thighs, and draws back. "Feels -- huge. But good." He eases forward again. She waits for him to say more, but there's no follow-up.

She laughs a little. "Okay, so dirty talk isn't your strong suit." His eyes fly open and he glares at her. "No, that's cool – not really my strong suit either. I just thought it might be your thing, is all." His eyes ease shut again, and he keeps rocking, slowly, until his thighs are trembling.

She thinks briefly about letting him keep going until his legs won't work properly, but in the end, she puts her hand on top of his where it's gripping his thigh. "Shift up a little, Dean. Put your hands on Sam's shoulders. He's gonna be your anchor, and I'll fuck you."

It works better like this. Dean does keep up the steady rocking, but with Pamela thrusting, the dildo has more power behind it, and with his hands on Sam's shoulders, he's got more leverage, and she uses both to push steadily at his prostate until he's blind with it, eyes open sightlessly. She doesn't look back at Sam, but she hears his breath unsteady behind her, can see his hands where he's shoved them under his thighs, presumably to keep from touching, she can feel his dick, still hard after all this time. She takes a little pity on him.

"Sam," she says, and he sits up straight at the sound of her voice. "You can jerk him off, or you can watch him do it himself. Again, your choice."

There's a long pause, the room frozen. Even Dean's apparently holding his breath waiting for the answer, though he doesn't stop his movements completely; Pamela thinks he's a little too far gone for that. She swears Sam moves his hands, but in the end, he says, "I want Dean to do it," and the room unfreezes. One hand still on Sam's shoulder, Dean takes his cock in his hand with a full-body shudder, loses his rhythm almost immediately, he's so close. Pamela speeds up her thrusts even more, and Dean comes after a few strokes with a shout, his come erupting, splattering from just under her breasts to her pussy. She pulls the dildo out of him gently, though he still bucks up a little at the sensation, and he drops as if she's just cut his strings, face buried in her breasts and his ass still in the air.

She's a little crazy for him, right then, such a bad idea, but so irresistible. For a minute or so, she lets him lie, pets him the way she pets Lux, long and slow, scritching his scalp with her nails, and he reacts the way Lux does, leaning in closer, practically purring.

They've still got work to do, though, and eventually, she pushes at him. "All right, sleepyhead, Sam still hasn't gotten off." With Dean upright again, she twists so that she's leaning back against Dean, facing Sam, still hard and hectic-flushed, still waiting for his turn. "You up for it? Not ready to walk offstage yet?"

Sam's still sitting on his hands. There are marks on his shoulders from where Dean hung on to him, maybe bruises tomorrow, two to coordinate with Dean's handprint. She draws his hands out from under him, and he smiles at her with his dick flattened along his stomach, veiny and angry red. There's a drip of precome at the tip. "God no. I've stayed this long, I'm here for the whole show."

"Good. I'm glad." She's still holding the dildo, and she runs it deliberately over her torso, coating it with Dean's come. "First, I think my dildo needs cleaning -- can't put it back in the drawer like this, can we?" Dean gasps behind her, and Sam's staring at Dean with his mouth a little open, looking shocked and defenseless and very young. She thinks for a minute that she's pushed too far, but Sam shakes his head, refocuses, and maybe not, after all. He looks like he could take it, now.

"Sam," says Dean, in a thready voice, "you--"

"No, it's okay, Dean," Sam says. "Here for the show, right? I said it, and I meant it."

She leans forward, pulling Dean with her, until her knees are pressed into Sam's inner thighs. Close enough now that she can see the pulse pounding in his throat. "Hold on to us," she says, "both of us." Sam does, dazedly, the heels of palms on her hips and his fingers on Dean's. Under her hips, Dean's cock twitches a little. "Dean, look how tight his nipples are. Think he likes when they're played with?" She reaches out, and Sam moans prettily as her fingers close around it. Dean's hands come up to fasten on Sam's.

"I'm gonna get you off, Sam, let you come all over me, just like Dean did. First, though, I want you to clean this for me." She brings the dildo, filthy with lube and Dean, to Sam's mouth, and paints his open lips with the tip like she's brushing on gloss, Sam's lips shiny. He touches his tongue to his lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to slide it in, the tip and then a little deeper so the whole head is in his mouth. His eyes close, and his lips tighten around it as he sucks.

She gives his nipple a light pinch, and that's it for Sam. His eyes fly open, his body jerks, and he's coming on Pamela, on himself. It's taken them all by surprise, and she and Dean watch as Sam falls open for them. It's a good look for him. Pamela thinks it doesn't happen often.

:::

So. A bad idea, but an irresistible one.

None of them meant to linger as long as they did. With Bobby due back any minute, there's no time to shower, so they get dressed as is, Dean still open and lubed -- she can't resist pushing her fingers in, one last time -- and and all three of them sticky with come, and Pamela thinks it's too bad there's not more time, not only because she's feeling pretty gross just now and really wants that shower, but also because, well, it was just a fabulous way to spend the afternoon. A great afternoon, all the way around. She wouldn't mind making a night of it. A weekend. A month.

There was this one time when she was fifteen -- she and her best friend Alys skipped their Beta Club retreat and instead hopped a bus to New York City, and they put on their best Edie Sedgwick gear at Grand Central and stowed their school clothes in lockers and were two brand-new people for a while, stayed up for forty hours straight and accidentally caught the first Boss Hog show ever even though they didn't know who Boss Hog was at the time, just hung out at CBGB's and made out with random strangers and watched Cristina Martinez strutting naked on the stage with utter fascination, and a year later she heard the Velvet Underground singing "Rock and Roll" for the first time, and thought yes and knew her weekend in New York was the exact same thing;

and there was Jesse, blowing hot and cold at her for six years, and then gone without a backward glance, clean cut like a sweeping scimitar blow, and nothing to show for it -- no closure, for example, no explanation -- but even so, when she misses him now she has remind herself of the bad things, because when it was good, it was just that good;

and there was fifth grade, the year she first realized that not everyone had conversations with their dead grandmothers and not everyone could tell what people were feeling just by touching their bare skin, and that being able to do these things were going to define the rest of her life for her;

and there are other things too, things just as important, and so, you know, she's got stories to tell: she's not one of those people who get to the end of their lives with nothing to show for it but a paid-out mortgage and a throat-closing sense of loss and dissatisfaction. And so this? Their impossible beauty notwithstanding, Sam and Dean Winchester aren't even at the top of her list of Defining Moments.

They're way, way up there, though.

And she'd keep them, she would, if they weren't so wrapped up in each other, and if she hadn't just managed, almost but not quite by accident, to wrap them up a little tighter. She wonders what this afternoon's changed, for them. If it's changed anything at all.


End file.
